


Acceptable Addictions

by intotheruins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU season 9, Castiel in the Bunker, Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:43:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5952409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since Castiel made it back to the bunker, he's been acting a little strange.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acceptable Addictions

**Author's Note:**

> I've been participating in a writing workshop that [wrenseroticlibrary](wrenseroticlibrary.tumblr.com) created. Last week's assignment was to write a confession story, but we weren't allowed to use any words that directly described emotion. This was ridiculously hard for me to write, but I think I pulled it off.

For the last ten minutes or so, Dean has been watching Castiel's right hand.

The long, slender fingers have been restless, twitching and tapping against a plain brown mug—probably something Dean or Sam stole from a cafe. It won't stop until Castiel's wandering gaze eventually returns to his coffee. He'll clench his jaw, tense his hand until it's rigid and quivering faintly, only to start right back up again as soon as his attention slips away.

There's been a piece of toast in Dean's hand for a good three or four minutes. He finally takes a bite of it even as he searches for clues in the ex-angel's face. Castiel's lids are heavy, casting his usually bright gaze into shadow. The near-harsh light of the kitchen makes the bruise-purple skin beneath his eyes stand out starkly, and his mouth is pressed into a thin, hard line.

“You sleep okay?” Dean asks.

Castiel huffs through his nose. He clenches his hand around the cup and heaves himself out of the seat, shuffling over to the nearly empty coffee pot. That'll be his third cup just since Dean came in an hour ago to make himself breakfast.

“I think I'm not a morning person,” Castiel grumbles after a moment.

He pours the last of the coffee into his mug and all but collapses back into his seat.

The twitching starts up again.

“Something bugging you?” Dean tries. “You know, besides the whole being human thing.”

“Just tired.” Castiel tips back his mug and drains it in three swallows. He squints down at it as he sets it back on the table. “Is there more coffee?”

Dean considers telling him to make his own damn coffee, or even just telling him no. Castiel looks up to meet Dean's gaze, widens his eyes and purses his lips just slightly and, okay, Dean's only human. He grumbles an affirmative and gets up to grab the grounds out of the cabinet.

While the coffee percolates, Dean leans back against the counter and watches Cas steal bits of egg from his plate. It's only been two days since he came home. Sixteen since he became human, but he spent two weeks of that on the road because Sam was still too sick for Dean to leave, and Zeke wasn't strong enough to fly. Cas probably spent most of that time on high alert to avoid the angels that blamed him for the fall. It wasn't easy to come down from a state of permanent adrenaline—it took Dean weeks to sleep for more than a handful of hours when he first escaped Purgatory. Hell, Dean was pretty sure he'd been just as twitchy as Cas was now, for a few days at least.

“You want me to make you some breakfast?” Dean asks after Cas steals his forth pinch of scrambled egg.

Castiel shoves the bit of food into his mouth and stares down at his cup until Dean comes to refill it.

“I did eat,” Castiel mutters. “I just didn't get much on the way here. I find myself... compelled to take any food I see.”

Like a neglected dog that will eat until it dies. Dean winces. He pours himself some more coffee, too, and shoves his plate and fork over for Cas.

“Not hungry.” Dean shrugs when Castiel gives him a pinched little frown. There's not much left, anyway, just a half a piece of toast and maybe one egg. “Really. Go ahead, man. 's all yours.”

Castiel smiles, just a tiny curl at the right corner of his mouth that still manages to deepen the crinkles around his eyes. It's the first one Dean's seen since he threw open the bunker door and found Cas in filthy jeans and a thread-bare hoodie, murmuring _“Hello, Dean,”_ like they'd seen each other just yesterday. 

_Tap. Taptaptap. Tap._

Castiel scowls and tightens his fingers around the mug.

“Hey.” Dean reaches across the table and grabs that one hand in both of his. Castiel starts, jerking back before he lets out a shaky breath and settles. Dean rubs a thumb over the back of his hand until he relaxes further. He casts a glance towards the doorway, and then leans down to brush a soft kiss against Cas's knuckles.

“It took me a month to come down from the Purgatory high. I know this isn't the same, but...” Dean shrugs.

Castiel twists his fingers around Dean's wrist and tightens his grip until Dean's hovering right on the edge of pain. He utters a quiet, “Thank you,” but his eyes are fixed somewhere over Dean's shoulder, expression glazing like the slow spread of molasses.

Dean barks, “Cas?” and the former angel jolts, dislodging their grip on each other.

“My apologies,” Castiel grunts.

“It's okay.”

Dean watches as Cas snatches up his fork and shovels the food into his mouth. His eyes remain focused, but he still refuses to meet Dean's gaze.

Dean draws in a deep breath. He doesn't let it go right away.

“You wanna watch some TV?” Dean asks when Cas is done. He hauls himself out of his chair and comes around the table to collect the dishes. “Sam's been recording that nature documentary you were geeking out over.”

One of Castiel's eyebrows twitches upwards. “You'd hate it.”

“Probably. But I wouldn't hate some up close and personal time while you watch it.” Dean winks and nudges Cas with his elbow as he passes, and yeah, there it is. There's the toothy grin Dean's been digging for since Castiel came home.

They end up putting in Blade Runner because Castiel's movie education is still sorely lacking, and Cas insists on something that won't put Dean to sleep in a matter of minutes. Dean sits up against the wall, barefoot and stretched out across the bed, and Castiel slots into his side so he can rest his head against Dean's shoulder. Soon, he'll start to rearrange Dean until he can fit comfortably between the hunter's legs, muttering to himself the entire time. Dean can already feel him squirming, and after a moment a hand slides onto his thigh.

The movie plays uninterrupted for a few minutes before Castiel finally grumbles something unintelligible and sits up. He tugs at Dean's leg until there's room for him to climb over and settle into his usual place. Dean wraps his arms around Cas's chest and sets his chin on top of his head, huffing out a quiet sigh when soft hair brushes against his skin.

Another moment passes before Castiel's hand settles on his thigh once more.

_Tap tap. Taptap. Tap._

Dean puts a hand over Castiel's to help him still.

He doesn't stay still for long.

~

Four Days Later

~

Dean's not sure what wakes him—the muffled curse, or the clacking sound of something likely plastic bouncing off the hard floor in the hall. Grumbling under his breath, Dean paws at the nightstand for his phone. The screen is too bright in the dark room, and Dean has to squint at it until his vision focuses enough for him to see that it's 1:52a.m.

“The hell?” Dean groans and drops the phone. He buries his face in his pillow, but the slap of bare feet rushing past his door makes him lift his head.

Dean doesn't call out. He slips silently out of bed and eases the door open, just in time to see Castiel disappearing down the stairs. He hesitates in the doorway for only a moment before ducking back inside to grab his coat and boots.

The twitching hasn't stopped. Castiel hasn't slept in the same bed with Dean since he came home. Yesterday, he spent all day in one of the bunker's storage rooms, coming out only for meals.

Dean hesitates again at the top of the stairs, tracing random patterns into the banister with one finger. He chews at his lower lip and listens to the distant, heavy rumble of the bunker's door closing.

“Just go back to bed,” Dean whispers. Instead, he squares his shoulders and marches down the stairs.

The Impala is parked just outside the door, catching and holding the soft light of a bright half moon. Castiel is up on the hood, hunched over his knees and staring down at something cupped in his hands. He flinches when the door opens, and again when Dean comes to stand in front of him. His hands close over the object tucked between them.

“Cas?” Dean starts to reach out, but at the last second he shoves his hands into his pockets. “Couldn't sleep?” he offers.

“Couldn't sleep,” Cas agrees. There's just enough light for Dean to see that Castiel's eyes are locked on his own fists.

Dean tips his head back. The stars are bright in clear defiance of Lebanon's light pollution. Dean starts picking out constellations as he listens to Castiel shifting against the hood. His fingers dig into his thighs, nails biting through the denim, but he keeps his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Dean.” Fingers close around Dean's forearm. Whatever Castiel's holding rattles, and Dean squeezes his eyes closed. His heart rams against his chest, and he shakes his head until the hand on his arm moves to cup his cheek.

“I didn't take any,” Castiel whispers.

A low, mangled sound wrenches itself from Dean's throat. He opens his eyes to find Castiel standing, his gaze meeting Dean's for the first time since he came home.

Dean tips forward and lays his forehead against the Cas's. The hand on his cheek slides away only to wrap around his arm again, tugging until Dean pulls his hand from his pocket. Something is pressed into his palm, cylindrical and plastic. It rattles again when Dean closes his fist around it and jerks it away from Castiel.

“What is it?” Dean croaks.

“Codeine.” Castiel lays his other hand against Dean's neck. It's warm, just like his breath is warm as it gusts over Dean's lips. “I wasn't used to feeling pain as a human. Someone offered me a way to make it stop.”

“You're not...?” Dean lunges back so he can drag a hand down Castiel's body, eyes straining in the soft light for anything out of the ordinary.

“I'm fine.” Castiel slips his hand behind Dean's neck and pulls him back in. “Any injuries I had healed, and sleeping in a bed has eased the other aches. I don't _need_ them anymore.”

Dean hears a thin creak as he clenches his fist around the bottle. He pulls it behind his back, as far away from Cas as he can get it without backing away himself.

“This yours, or ours?” They have codeine in one of the storage rooms, along with a lot of other drugs he and Sam have picked up when they could. Anything to keep them out of a hospital.

“I ran out of mine three days before I got here,” Castiel says. “I found this yesterday. I wanted the calm back.”

Codeine causes mild euphoria, drowsiness, relaxation. The list flits through Dean's mind with ease, something he memorized along with the other effects of the potentially addictive prescriptions.

The bottle gets shoved into a pocket, as far as it will go. His eyes slip closed, and he sees a Castiel from a 2014 that never happened, popping back a handful of pills. Dean shudders.

“You should be over the withdrawal by now.”

Castiel nods. His forehead slips against Dean's, and their noses bump. “I just wanted the calm back,” he whispers again, so low that Dean almost misses it.

“Where did they... um, I mean... this shit ain't cheap.”

When he opens his eyes, Castiel is frowning at him. “Where did the person who gave them to you get them?” Dean tries again.

“She wouldn't tell me,” Castiel replies. “She just said she traded for them.”

Dean swallows hard. He shoves the pills even deeper and brings his arm up around Castiel's shoulders, tugging him closer and ignoring how the pressure against his forehead becomes almost painful.

“What did you trade for them?”

“Food.”

A sharp breath bursts out of Dean. “Okay. Good.”

He pulls Castiel in until they're pressed chest to chest, hooks his chin over Cas's shoulder and starts to relax when he feels the former angel's arm slip around his waist.

“You're okay,” Dean murmurs. “We'll have to get you some acceptable addictions.”

Castiel snorts. “That's what I was trying to do with the coffee. Does this count as an acceptable addiction?” He squeezes the arm around Dean's waist.

“More than acceptable.” Dean presses a kiss into Castiel's neck, another to his jaw. “We gotta tell Sam and Kev. They can help. Hey, do you think Zeke can zap the need outta you?”

“Unlikely, his grace is very weak from the fall. Healing Sam will have already drained what little power he has left. Besides.” Castiel pauses. He brushes a kiss of his own against Dean's throat before he murmurs, “This is in my head. There's no physical affliction for him to fix.”

“Yeah. I know.” Dean tips his head back and presses a kiss to Castiel's forehead. “There. All fixed.”

“I hardly think one kiss is going to do it,” Castiel retorts, but he's smiling around the words.

“Guess I'll have to keep kissing you.” Dean plants another one right on the tip of Cas's nose. “Come on, let's go back to bed. Have you been sleeping at all?”

“Very little.” Castiel falls in behind Dean as they make their way back into the bunker. “Can I...?”

“Yeah.” Dean reaches down and curls his hand around Castiel's wrist, tugging him up the stairs, but he doesn't follow him into the room when they reach it.

“Go ahead and get in,” Dean says, waving a hand towards the bed. “I'll be right back.”

The storage room at the end of the hall isn't much bigger than the bedrooms, so they've turned it into a kind of glorified closet for all their toiletries and medical supplies. A box containing their various medicines sits on a high shelf. Dean takes it down and sets the codeine back inside, and then carries the box to the very back of the room and buries it under a bunch of neatly folded towels.

When he gets back to his room, he finds Cas's coat and jeans in a pile by the door. Dean kicks off his boots and dumps his own coat on top of them before he slides in behind his angel. Cas is already warm, body loose and on the edge of sleep. Dean tucks an arm around his waist, gets his hand up under Castiel's t-shirt and splays his fingers against the soft give of his belly.

“Missed you,” Dean murmurs as he relaxes against Castiel's back.

Castiel mumbles something that might be a, “you too.” Dean chases it into sleep.

END~


End file.
